Entendre
by This Is Da Vinci Speaking
Summary: Entirely inspired by a dream. Clopin spots an uninvited guest sneaking into the Court of Miracles one night as he’s patrolling. What is her purpose there, and what are the two secrets Clopin Trouillefou is hiding from the world?[PAUSED TIL DONE]
1. There Was Something He Forgot to Mention

**Ladies and gentlemen, my first posted _Hunchback of Notre Dame_ fanfiction; my second one ever written. Not finished, like the other one. I'll post the other one once I figure out how to divide the chapters. Yeah. Enjoy. And REVIEW!!**

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**Prologue: There Was Something He Forgot to Mention**

"Don't be this way, Renaud."

A fierce-looking gypsy male fastened his thin cloak around his shoulders, staring down at the young woman standing before him, a pleading look in her eyes. "Why did you do something like this, Tatiana? What have I ever done to you to deserve a punishment like this?"

Tatiana's gaze fell to the floor. "I mean not to punish you. I made a mistake, and I'm sorry." She tucked a strand of jet-black hair behind her ear and rubbed her own arm, crestfallen. "I am ashamed of what I have done."

Renaud paused as he set a worn hat on his head, casting a shadow over his piercing eyes. "You are forgiven, but I will not treat this child as my own." He grunted. "Nor will I treat the father as a human being."

The young mother-to-be looked up sharply at her husband. "Renaud, you mustn't!"

"It's only justice!"

"Please!" Tatiana pleaded as Renaud headed out of their caravan. She grabbed at his cloak. "You cannot hurt Clopin! He is only fifteen!"

"And you!" Renaud whirled around and bore through Tatiana's skull with his stony glare. "You are only twenty-one! Trouillefou is too young to father a child, and you are too old to bear him any! Do you not understand the position you have put yourself in, Tatiana? Do you?!"

There was a brooding silence between the two, and as Renaud strode away after wrenching himself free of Tatiana's grasp, she covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

A while passed, and Tatiana looked up at the sound of someone's voice.

"Tapi?"

"Go," she whispered to the teenaged boy as he somberly juggled in front of her. "I can't let Renaud see you here."

Clopin frowned and tossed a ball high into the air, bouncing the other two off his forehead before catching the first one and continuing his routine. "He'll never catch me, Tapi. I'm too quick for him."

"So you think," a dark voice said from behind him, causing him to stop juggling and drop all three balls into the grass.

"Please don't," Clopin breathed faintly.

Renaud grabbed the boy's shoulders and threw him against the side of the caravan. "It's people like you who make us gypsies the villains in Paris!" he bellowed. "You can't go around sleeping with men's wives, let alone those who are older than you! Do you _know_ what you've done?!"

Clopin remained with his cheek against the wood of the caravan and inhaled deeply. The smell of cedar was both a weakness and strength for him; one whiff of the wood was all he needed.

"I want you to leave," he murmured into the planks.

One…two…three seconds of silence. "_Qua_?" Renaud asked.

Clopin turned around and crossed his arms. "You are to leave Paris and not return until ten months have passed."

Renaud's face reddened with anger, and Tatiana buried her face in her hands again. "You cannot—"

"You seem to forget that I am your _king_, Monsieur Bellumé! I may be only ten and five years of age, but I am still the authority to all of you. If I say jump, you say, 'How high?' If I say leave Paris, you say, 'Where to?' Otherwise I could have you _hanged_. Am I clear?"

Renaud was silent; Tatiana was sobbing. "Where to?" he asked in a deathly whisper.

Clopin rubbed his chin. "Chatillon. Ten months. Clear?"

The last time Clopin ever saw Tatiana was fifteen minutes after that, and she had tears in her eyes and sorrow in her heart.

Nine months later, Ferdinand Bellumé-Trouillefou was born. When Ferdinand was a month old, Tatiana and Renaud returned to Paris from Chatillon, and Clopin received news of this and sent someone to safely bring them back.

"Make sure nothing happens to my son or his mother," he muttered to the subject. "I don't really care what happens to her husband…." Conscience got the better of him. "Make sure he's not dead, at least."

The news that the subject brought back to the sixteen-year-old king was somber. Clopin's reaction was to idly toss a ball he used for juggling at the wall and catch it when it bounced back. He was only sixteen, but his decision was mature enough for a twenty-year-old.

"Hang him," he told the other subjects. "I don't want anyone to know of this."

"Know of what?"

His face was hidden beneath his wide-brimmed hat, but the impish grin that adorned Clopin's features was prominent. "Nothing, gentlemen. Absolutely nothing."


	2. Gypsy King of Fools

**Heehee. This is getting good.**

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**Chapter One: Gypsy King of Fools**

"Happy seventy-fifth birthday, Trouillefou!"

Clopin slapped his compatriot across the face with a long, black glove. "Very funny," he said in his naturally musical voice. "I'm thirty-five today, Gophan Tartou. And how old will _you_ be turning? Hm? Forty?"

The larger man—no exaggeration; he was at least twice Clopin's size—laughed heartily. "You got me there.'

Clopin grinned. "Thank you, though," he said, drifting into his own caravan. "Although I must ask you what you are doing in my abode."

Gophan crossed his arms, which were nearly the same width as Clopin himself. "Well, it's your birthday, isn't it? Don't I have a right to be in here on my best friend's birthday?"

"Well...no."

The two headed out for a casual walk on the streets of Paris, not really having much to say, but enjoying each other's company nonetheless. That was how most of their walks were; not much talking, but a lot of humming or spontaneous dancing, with the occasional prank upon a poor bystander.

They stopped, however, in front of Notre Dame. The cathedral towered over them like a majestic mountain of stone, marble, and glass. The bells started their blissful melody as if on cue, and a subtle grin flashed across Clopin's face as he gazed up at the bell tower.

"They're beautiful, no?" he murmured to Gophan. "So many colors of sound; so many changing moods..."

Gophan nodded.

"Because, you know, they don't ring all by themselves."

"I know. I've lived here for forty years."

Clopin frowned. "Hush!" He watched the bell tower again. "Quasimodo is such a cruel name," he whispered almost to the tower itself. Gophan glanced at him. "I much rather like the name...I don't know...Ferdinand...?"

Gophan full-out stared at him. "How would you know if Ferdinand would be a better name for the hunchback?"

Clopin looked at him with eyes that said he clearly was hiding something, but his best friend couldn't even put a finger on what it was. "I just like that name." He turned and waltzed away, leaving Gophan to listen to the bells somewhat nervously.

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Quasimodo sat on a gargoyle, watching the sunset over Paris, that familiar loneliness overwhelming him. He wished so much that he could live amongst the people...

He saw something moving out of the corner of his eye, and when he turned his head to look, he frowned confusedly.

"Hey, little guy," he whispered to the butterfly flitting about near him. "Isn't it a little late for you to be out?" He reached a hand out to the insect, and he smiled when it landed gracefully on his forefinger. "Look at you," the hunchback said, referring to the insect's gold and black wings. "What a beautiful creature you are."

The butterfly uncurled its long tongue on Quasimodo's knuckle, and he laughed.

"That tickles," he chuckled. The butterfly took off again, and as it flew into the sunset, it seemed to wave at the lonely bell ringer.

"Good-bye, now," Quasimodo said, his previous sadness returning once again. Nothing changed.

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Clopin had his head resting against the stage counter of his puppet caravan. He was almost completely asleep when Gophan came and nudged him gently. He got no response, so he felt his forehead and gasped lightly.

Gophan scooped up his best friend effortlessly and took him to his living caravan. He wasn't deeply concerned; Clopin had broken out into cold sweats and was rendered nearly unconscious before. He figured it was from a bout of Bubonic plague he'd never gotten over as a child. Gophan wasn't even sure Clopin had ever gotten the plague...

"Trouillefou?" Gophan said in a hushed voice to his friend, who he carefully set down on his corner of pillows and blankets. "Are you able?"

Clopin opened his eyes a little, and they were unfocused. "Gophan..."

"It's me," the larger man said reassuringly. "What happened this time?"

"I...too high...too small..." With that, he closed his eyes and fell silent.

Gophan chuckled. "You fool," he said. "You are the only one I know who would use his birthday as an excuse to spend half the night with women who are not even close to your age."

Clopin turned onto his side, still very pale, and clutched a pillow. "Tapi," he murmured.

Raising a confused eyebrow, Gophan turned and walked out of Clopin's caravan. "You're lucky your mother was the queen..." He snorted. "Otherwise I have no idea how you became king."


	3. An Unwanted Guest

**I love this story to pieces.

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Chapter Two: An Unwanted Guest

Flip. Pat. "Merde." Sigh. Flip. Pat. "Merde!" Sigh. Flip. Pat. "_Merde_!" Sigh.

"Maybe," Clopin murmured to himself as he sat amongst the bones in the catacombs, "I shouldn't have used a double-sided coin..." he examined the coin, "when deciding who was going to patrol the area."

"I could have told you that," Gophan murmured to him from a dark corner near the king. Because he was so large, only his head was visible beneath the skeletons, whereas Clopin was disguised as an actual skeleton. The friends were kept company by two other gypsies who were stupid enough to volunteer to be on their king's side when the coin toss took place.

Clopin sneered. "Well, you didn't, did you?"

One of the gypsies grabbed Clopin's arm suddenly. "Someone's coming," he said in a hushed tone.

The four of them watched as a young lady—obviously not a gypsy—cautiously sloshed through the sewage, using a torch to light her way. When she passed them, Gophan quietly emerged from the bones, Clopin silently slipped off the skulls and crouched on the ground in a spider-like position, and the other two gypsies tip-toed after the trespasser, wielding cutlasses.

Gophan motioned to the other gypsies hiding further down the catacombs, and Clopin quietly snickered to himself. He absolutely loved ambushes; he rarely got a chance to participate in any because he was either ill or nobody was wise enough to find the Court of Miracles.

The trespasser was certainly beautiful; she had long blonde hair that was tied up in a precarious knot on the back of her head, and her eyes were emerald and searching. She wore an overcoat that appeared to belong to a man, and she lowered her hood as Clopin approached her from behind. Grinning, the King of the Gypsies blew the torch out with an effortless wave of his hand.

The gypsies hidden in the catacombs shrieked with eerie laughter as they lit their own torches and ran up to the unfortunate woman. They tied her hands behind her back and threw her to the ground.

"So tell me," Clopin drawled, crossing his arms and examining the fingertips of his gloves, "where in the world did you think you were going, lovely?"

The woman growled at him. "Leave me the hell alone," she spat.

"I asked you a question."

"And I demanded you a response!"

Clopin quirked an eyebrow at Gophan, who lifted the woman to her feet and shoved her towards him. Clopin held his dagger to her throat.

"Don't get tactless now," he chimed in her ear. "You wouldn't want to lose that pretty little head of yours, would you?" He glanced at his best friend. "What's your name?"

The woman hesitated. "Iris Envey."

"And what is your purpose down here? Do you know where you are?"

"Who are _you_?" Iris asked facetiously. "I tend to prefer knowing the name of my potential assassinator."

Clopin smirked. "I, my dear, am Clopin Trouillefou." He pressed the blade to her throat more. "Now answer my questions. What is your purpose down here?"

"I know about your son."

There was a collective gasp from the gypsies, including Gophan, who took a step backwards in shock.

"Interesting," Clopin muttered, throwing Iris to the ground again. "How did you know I have a son?"

"Because I know someone's planning on murdering him."

This rendered the gypsy king frighteningly silent.

"What?" He asked finally.

Iris sighed, frustrated. "I know someone is going to kill your son."

"But why?! Nobody can commit murder in a cathedral!" He suddenly glared, having realized he gave too much away. "You're lying to me," he snarled.

"I'm not lying!" Iris screamed as a gypsy wrapped a cloth around her head, covering her mouth. Gophan swung her over his shoulder, and the gypsies proceeded to the Court of Miracles.

The noose was around Iris's neck; Clopin had an extraordinarily demonic grin on his face; his hands where on the lever...but he paused. He remained stock-still for a full thirty seconds, and he stared at the lever for so long his grin started to look false. He raised his eyes.

Gophan watched the back of Clopin's head, his arms crossed. He didn't care that his best friend was hesitating before the gallows—in fact, he knew there was a reason.

Clopin didn't disappoint him. The gypsy king suddenly turned and waltzed right up to Iris, ripping the gag off her mouth. He looked down at her with an almost drunken darkness in his eyes.

"Suppose you're telling the truth," he murmured, raising a coy eyebrow. "Do you have any knowledge of who, where, why, and how this is going to happen?"

Iris glared at him. "How am I supposed to know this?" She glanced at the others. "It's...it's just a rumor."

Clopin looked up at Gophan for his input.

"Then why," the older man queried, "did you risk your neck to search for Trouillefou?" The way he said Clopin's last name caused him to cringe slightly. "If it _is_, indeed, a rumor, then you had no reason to come down here."

Clopin reached for the lever.

"_January sixth_!!" Iris cried suddenly, causing the gypsy king to miss his aim for the lever and stumble forward, falling on his stomach on the wood of the platform and knocking the wind out of him. Gophan ambled towards him as Iris continued. "That's all I know."

Gophan helped Clopin to stand and held his arm until the smaller man inhaled sharply.

"Release her," he gasped, holding his stomach in pain. "You have to promise with your life not to mention a single word about the location of the Court of Miracles, am I understood?"

Iris rubbed her neck lightly as her arms were untied and the noose was removed. She nodded.

"You also have to come back with details. If you don't..." He found himself unable to finish the sentence. Shortly after the woman left, Clopin turned to Gophan. "January sixth is the Festival of Fools."

Gophan bit his tongue, frowning at Clopin. Something had to be discussed, and they both knew it had nothing to do with the Festival.

Clopin promptly wrenched his arm from Gophan's grip and disappeared in a small explosion of dark indigo smoke. He was more than upset; he was disconcerted and offended at the same time.

Right away Gophan knew something irrational was about to take place.


	4. Third Time's a Charmer

**A few notes. And I can't remember them. Crap. Oh, yes. Wait...no. Oh right. If the chapter setup confuses you, I apologize. Unless I'm incompetent, FFN doesn't have a setup for prologues, which meant that I had to make the prologue a seperate chapter. Actually, I could've just attached it to Chapter One...**

**My point is I'm incompetent.**

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**Chapter Three: Third Time's a Charmer**

Gophan Tartou stood outside of Clopin's caravan, frowning intensely. He heard noises coming from inside, and they weren't sounds he normally wanted to hear. They were slight; lots of sighing and small giggles. Gophan counted four voices, one of them being Clopin.

Clopin's voice was hushed. "Breathe, darling," he whispered. This resulted in another set of giggles, then an outpour of laughter. A second later, Clopin chuckled suavely.

Gophan knew that laugh; he walked in on his friend one too many times as the aforementioned was engaged in some kind of pleasurable activity with a woman, be it drinking or sex…or both. Trouillefou usually spent the night with a woman if he was upset. It was extremely rare if he spent the night with more than one woman.

This was extremely rare.

The large man grunted and walked up to the door, knocking three times exactly. Clopin had no choice but to know it was Gophan, because they agreed that would be the way they would know it was one another. They knew, but now Clopin chose to ignore it. The giggling ceased, and there was a low sigh. The small window in the door opened.

"Tartou," Clopin hissed. "Why are you here?"

"Open the door, Trouillefou."

Clopin growled, then threw his door open, revealing himself to be completely devoid of any clothing save for his hat, which he was holding right over the part of his anatomy that needed covering. "The door's open. What is so important—?"

Gophan's eyes widened when he looked inside the caravan. "Three girls, Clopin? How old are they?"

There was a brief silence, and Clopin turned his head to the girls, who were chatting and giggling amongst themselves. "Two of them are thirty-six." He frowned slightly. "The other's nineteen."

"Nineteen, Clopin?!" Gophan hissed. "She's not old enough to make her own decisions!"

"That may be, but I..." He glanced between the girls and Gophan over three times—back and forth, back and forth. "I'm going to need you to leave."

"Don't you even thi—"

"Marie, Sophie...thank you." He watched the two older women get dressed, luckily not in the least offended. "Aranya...stay."

The younger woman looked up at Clopin and smiled. "How come?" she asked in a fluty yet womanly voice that sent chills even up Gophan's spine. "Why just me?"

Clopin looked at his best friend in the world as the older women went by and kissed each man on the cheek as they left. "Because. I want to _talk_ to you." He smirked, sending another set of chills up Gophan's spine. "One reason because I want to provoke Gophan to do something irrational. Another reason because I..." He turned his head to Aranya. "I'm feeling like I need to _talk_."

Aranya smiled. "Mm, and if you didn't have that hat in way it would be apparent?"

Gophan shut his eyes tightly. "Trouillefou, I—" He heard a door shut, and he sighed. "Be careful."

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Clopin sat in front of Aranya. "I should probably tell you I have a son."

Aranya smiled again and crawled towards the gypsy king. She ran her fingers through his hair and tugged on a sensitive part of his ear. "How old is he?"

"A year older than you," Clopin breathed, laying on his back as Aranya gently pushed her hand on his chest. "But I never see him, and he has no idea he's my son, so theoretically he's not my son at all."

"Right," the young gypsy woman murmured. "And theoretically I'm not here."

Clopin grinned and propped himself up on his elbows. "Well, that's disappointing. Now I have to go back to my puppet caravan and cry."

Aranya kissed him on the neck slowly. "No, no. There will be no crying." She grinned when he chuckled. "I'm doing this for no coins, Monsieur Trouillefou."

"Then in that case, you are to call me Clopin."

The two of them chose to remain silent for the following two hours.

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"So I'm assuming you had fun with...what was her name?"

Clopin rubbed his thumb and forefinger together as he examined the puppet caravan. He had a scowl of concentration adorning his features, and his arms were crossed. "Aranya," he murmured.

"Yes." Gophan wanted to kick his best friend at the moment; he'd barely said a word that entire morning. Lord only knew what he was doing at that very minute. To Gophan, he was staring at the caravan as if it were trying to convey a message to the gypsy leader. For all he knew, it could've been. "I have something I wish to discuss with you," he added.

"If it has to do with Aranya," Clopin finally pried his eyes away from the carriage and set his gaze on the bigger man, "then I think it's a matter of unimportance, whereas the matter of Quasimodo is a whole other story in itself, is it not?"

Gophan sniffed heartily. "Yes. Quasimodo is..." He shook his head abruptly. "Stop it with the formality. You never told me you had a son."

Clopin's expression softened. "I never told anyone. I didn't even tell _him_. It would've remained a secret if that Iris Whatsername didn't come and—"

"Somehow I doubt that."

Clopin grinned. A few seconds later, he stopped. "I've only seen Quasimodo a few times in his entire lifetime. I can't watch him die."

This was the first time he'd ever shown his vulnerability to Gophan. He made sure he was always on top of things and had a plan for everything. He knew he was spooking him out, but it was the truth. He didn't know if Iris was going to come back with news or details on Quasimodo's potential assassination; he didn't even know if she was telling the truth. All he knew was that he had to figure out how to protect the hunchback if it was true.

"I'll help you," Gophan said quietly. "Even though I still wish to wring your neck..."

Clopin laughed. "_Merci_, Tartou." He kicked his puppet caravan, and it promptly collapsed in a heap of wood and cloth.

They stared at it, and Clopin cleared his throat. "I knew something was a bit...off."

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**Remember, this story was inspired completely by a dream. Sometimes the plot doesn't even make sense to _me_. But I'm pulling it together, don't worry.**

**Thanks to all those reading and reviewing!**


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